


Citadel Shit

by WallaceWells



Series: Citadel shit [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Gen, Rick and Morty - Freeform, Tiny Rick, let me know if you fuckers want a ship involved, lotsa fuckin ricks everywhere dawgs, pocket mortys - Freeform, rick sanchez - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6207187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallaceWells/pseuds/WallaceWells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick decides to fool around as Tiny Rick again after missing the attention, but the Council of Ricks has other plans for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Citadel... Shit!

It hadn't been long for Rick’s curiosity to whir up again. After all the hype and attention Tiny Rick got, he figured why not try again? Operation Phoenix was a fucking mess. It was all over the place, a failed procedure, and perhaps one that wasn't looked into enough. Ricks didn't fucking fail when it came to things like this, it just didn't make any god damn sense. Ricks were Ricks, and he couldn't deny he had enjoyed all the attention TR had gotten whilst he was in use. He missed it. Fuck, he'd forgotten how it'd felt.

Rick couldn't comprehend what it felt like to be small again, it was exhilarating, new, and everything felt fresh and amazing. His old body wasn't like that. It was old, worn, wrinkled and scarred. It was a great experience while it lasted, and fuck, he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try to feel that again.

The problem with the previous Tiny Rick body was the lack of effort he put into it, a messy, rushed together experiment for the sake of using it once and once only to hunt a lousy vampire down. The lack of control, his anger and defiant personality more prominent when he freed his mind into the small rushed body. It was just that, a messy project he didn't put much further thought into. But something tugged at his mind since that time, a measly what if. What if he could try again, get it right, make the body a living fully functioning clone that wasn't a danger to switch in and out of?

Rick rubs his temples, staring at the vat in front of him. Ever since Beth had firmly instructed, or well, told him ‘no more alien prisoners in secret hatches under the garage’, he hadn't really thought what else to use the hatch for. Well, this was certainly a good use for it, right? It wasn't a renewed operation Phoenix, but shit, he ached and yearned for the feeling of being inside a teenager’s body again. Sure, it was tough work, but it was worth it. No turning back now, he'd spent the last three days working in his garage undisturbed all for this.

Rick groans. He snatches up the two ports on the computer beside the vat and eyes the small body lurking in the green fluid. It's a downing silence for a bit, before he actually decides to go through with his plan. Fuck, he'd come this far, right? He’d put effort into a new, improved Tiny Rick. The body looked around fifteen, though he might've messed up on the height and made it slightly smaller than last time. It wouldn't matter, the fluffy blue hair would make up for any height loss. He hastily pulls the fresh, soft body from the vat and sets it down in a chair. Rick wets his lip, exhaling gruffly and stripping from his large clothes. He hangs them up on the wall on a peg, then steps over to the vat and attaches the cords to his temples. He does the same for the small version of himself, then climbs inside. 

He immediately felt cold, his vision went blurry before it hit black. Rick inhales the fluid in the vat, effectively knocking him out, the flesh preservation fluid stronger and more conservative this time. He wanted to be sure this would work.

Rick awoke later, body slightly stiff from being seated oddly in a chair. His first breath was unbelievably too easy to take, and it shocked him a little. He peers down at his bare body, raising small hands to his new and perfect vision. He blinks his eyes, looking over himself and standing up quickly, energy pumping through his veins. He couldn't help but let a wry smile spread across his cheeks. He did it again. Fresh and new, Tiny Rick runs over to his old clothes and swings them over his now small shoulder, dashing over to the ladder and climbing up back into the garage. TR tosses his clothes into an odd purple mix already prepared before. He waits a few minutes, before reaching a hand in and grabbing out the dry, smaller clothes. Suitable for his new body of course. He doesn't fool around, slipping on his newly altered clothes and doing a spin to look at himself in the reflection of his ship’s dome window. He licks his teeth cockily, raising half his brow and grinning wildly.

“T-tiny Rick’s back, baby!”

Rick dances around his garage excitedly, spending the new energy recklessly. It wasn't like he didn't have a shit tone more to spare anyway. He walks over to the door leading to the kitchen proudly, keen to show Morty snd Summer his new project that he had worked on. They didn't have to be concerned about him being stuck or dying in the smaller clone of himself this time, instead they could go out and have a great fucking time. Grinning happily, he sets his hand on the door knob.

Wait, that wasn't Morty’s voice. It wasn't Summer’s, Beth’s, fuck even Jerry’s. Tiny Rick tips his head curiously, pressing his ear to the door and setting small hands on the frame. His face screws up as he tries to listen.

No, that was a Rick’s voice. Fuck, two Ricks. Ricks never traveled in pairs, unless…

Fuck. The Council. What the hell did they want this time? He hadn't done anything fucking wrong! Tiny Rick presses his back up to the door, listening to the conversation. 

“W-we don’t know! I haven't s-s-seen him in a few days, okay?!”

Morty. Shit, they have Morty. He couldn't let those Rick-pigs question him like that. Their methods are inhumane, even for Ricks.

“Yeah, I don't know either. Don't you guys have better stuff to do? Like, get drunk and party? Leave us alone already, God,”

And Summer. Tiny Rick reaches up and bites a finger in consideration. They only wanna talk, right? Jesus, what shit timing. Well, whatever they wanted he wouldn't let them take his grandkids. He kicks the door open abruptly, storming out and standing in front of the two council Ricks. He folds his arms over his chest, not breaking eye contact with the lead-Rick.

Morty stumbles, looking Rick up and down.

“W-woah, Rick! Y-y-you’re, you're tiny Rick again!” Though, his sudden surprise was soon turned to disappointment. Morty folds his arms, jabbing Tiny Rick’s shoulder.

“We told you, Rick, this was dangerous! Y-you can't just, y- you axed yourself! How… How did you-“

“Sh-shut up, Morty. It's new. But that isn't what these punks want, eh?” He points a thumb in the direction of the council Ricks, who cock their guns in unison. Morty looks at his now tiny grandfather up and down, a spark in his eye. He was right, this model seemed… Smaller.

“Actually,” one of the Ricks start, latching a firm grip onto TR’s arm and yanking him forward. “It's exactly what we w-want.”

All three give the Rick a look of confusion. Morty, Rick, and Summer look at each other concerned. TR gives a sharp pull at his freshly made arm, nibbling his bottom lip in thought. Once he figured he couldn't get free from his grip, he turns and looks up at the council Rick angrily.

“What?!” Tiny Rick yells, a childish pout unwillingly shifting onto his features.

The council pig-Rick licks his lips devilishly, looking at Tiny Rick like he was a piece of meat. It made the small Rick uncomfortable, shifting his weight between his feet.

“We need a Rick like you.”

“F-fuck no, y-you God damn sheep! Like I'd ever c-come quietly, don’t y’ know who I am? I- I’m tiny Rick!” He pauses, then shakes his head dismissively.

“I- I meant C-137, dickheads.” TR corrects.

The Ricks look at each other, mumbling obscenities. This wasn't a mistake, was it? There were no other Ricks that've made themselves small like this. They had the one, but why the fuck did it have to be C-137? 

“Whatever, s-so? We have orders.”

Morty latches onto Tiny Rick’s other arm, tired of listening to the three Ricks fight. He pulls, angrily staring up at the two Ricks from the citadel.

“Y-you take him, y-you gotta get through me! No one takes m-my Rick, you assholes! I- I- I’ll beat the shit out of you!”

Tiny Rick looks at Morty, who was practically throwing a fit. What a little shit, he'd just get in trouble too. Fucking idiot. He wiggles his arm out of Morty’s grip and points at him.

“Morty! Q-quit starting shit! Look, I-I’ll go with ‘em. See what they want, then come back, al-alright?”

Morty frowns, arms dropping down to his sides. Summer walks up behind her brother and sets a hand on his shoulder, rubbing comfortingly.

“O-okay, Rick.”

The second council Rick grabs Tiny Rick and lifts him up, pinning him between his forearm and shoulder. The Rick in command shoves the barrel of his blaster against the small Rick’s cheek, grinding the gun into it.

“Y-yeah, likely story, Rick.” The council Rick grins and looks in the direction of the horrified grandchildren.

“He won't be coming back.”

Tiny Rick tenses. The second council Rick shoots a portal into the wall, then disappears with TR and the other Rick.

Morty looks up at Summer, eyes bulging.

“Wh-what.. Do we do now?”


	2. Citadel... What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Rick decides he's had enough of being hoisted around the shithole. But, what's happened to the Citadel?

“Wh-where the hell are you taking me, dipshits?!”

Tiny Rick writhes in the bigger Rick’s grip, thumping his tiny fists against his back angrily. It was almost like he was throwing a tantrum. Of course, he knew where they were taking him to. Obviously the Citadel of Ricks was the initial destination, but where inside? Rick had never exactly looked around the Citadel, fuck, he never planned to. The only time he caught a glimpse of the place was the last time he was forcibly dragged there with Morty.

Jesus, what a fucking repeat. It seemed like the only times he'd ever been to the shithole-Rick fuck fest was against his will.

“Juuuust a little place inside.”

“It's none of y-your business, Rick.”

Tiny Rick slumps over his shoulder in a fit of defeat, a childish pout spreading across his face. He narrows his eyes, flicking his tongue out to wet his slightly dry lips in thought. All Ricks had portal guns on them. Unfortunately, he didn't have his own due to the sudden ‘kidnapping’, he'd left it aside to avoid it getting wet in the purple-dry fluid he shrunk his clothes in. Shit.

Still, all Ricks had portal guns on them, right? With a sly grin, Tiny Rick peels the altered council lab coat aside with small, undetected hands. He reaches inside and feels around blindly, biting his tongue to keep quiet. He grabs something, then pauses to make sure the council Rick didn't notice. A quick look over his shoulder proves his suspicions, and he smooths the palm of his hand over the gun, familiarising it. Yeah, definitely a portal gun.

Tiny Rick snatches it from the lab coat and kicks his legs like an enraged toddler, wriggling free from the sheep-Rick’s grip. He tumbles onto the rough ground of the Citadel, scrambling to his feet and tucking the portal gun into his smaller lab coat. He starts to run away from the shitheads, too in a hurry to look over his shoulder. He's quicker than them, his younger and fresher body built in with retainable stamina was so fucking effective. He makes a sharp left turn around a corner, ducking beneath a bench beside a blips and chitz vending machine. He gives a quick pat to his lab coat pocket, a comforting bulge of the portal gun meeting his hand. Tiny Rick grins upon hearing commotion and yelling around the corner. It doesn't take long before he sees the two pairs of legs rush past the bench he was hidden under, and two alarmed and disgruntled voices asserting themselves and demanding the whereabouts of a ‘small Rick.’

It was fucking hilarious. No other Rick had ever heard of a small Rick, because fuck, they were all old as shit. Then again, that was fucking terrible. It meant he was easier to spot, and alert the higher Ricks about. Fuck, fuck. He didn't think this through. He smacks a hand to his face, running his fingernails along his cheek in frustration. He needed some place to hide, some place good. Irritated eyes peer back over and try to find the frantic Ricks, but they weren't there anymore. Must've moved on to a different location to question other Ricks, he thought, reaching forward and pulling himself forward and out from under the bench. A place to hide, some place good, with a Rick that looked like he didn't give a shit about ‘Council errands.’

Tiny Rick looks around, blinking his large eyes at the blinding amount of advertisements and … Morty promotion? Fuck, what had happened here? It seemed so god damn different from what he saw last time, despite how little he paid attention to it in the first place. He strolls over, a mass of yellow and brown posters and bill boards decorating the Citadel.

A Rick like him.

The words rang in his mind, what the hell did they mean? Was it connected to the massive remodel? He had… Better get some information and a place to hide, quickly, before he was caught. He guessed he had some questioning of his own to get started on, not that he cared or whatever. Maybe he was a little curious, he didn’t plan on staying long, but this new body was… Overly curious. He needed to know what the fuck happened here. Tiny Rick looks around curiously, silently naming each shitty new addition to a mental list.

What the fuck was a ‘Morty Daycare’? Tiny Rick’s face screws up. Sure, Mortys were considered disposable to most Ricks, but to treat them like Jerrys? Jesus Christ, this wasn't a good look for the Council. Fuck, it wasn't a good look for Ricks anywhere. He looks over his shoulder, making sure he wasn't being followed, before strolling casually over to the Morty Daycare. Tiny Rick confidently slams his elbow onto the tall counter, looking up at the Rick he assumed was in charge of this dump. He waits a few seconds, and when he doesn't get a response from him, he decides to talk his way into the social barrier the Rick put up.

“Hey.”

Finally, the scruffy looking Rick peers over his book and looks up. It was a Rick voice he heard, right? So where was the- oh, down there. Storage Rick glances down and blinks his tired eyes, holy shit. That wasn't a Morty, was it?

“Uh, can I help you?”

“Y-yeah. What the fuck is this?”

Tiny Rick gestures to the establishment, casting disapproving angry eyes up at the giant, cheap looking Morty head on top of it all. He slams his hands on the counter, then points with a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the rest of the council.

“What, what the hell happened to this place? It- it looks even more shit than the last time my ass w-was dragged here.”

Maybe he shouldn't have said that, maybe the weird messy Rick didn't care.

“Shit knows, man. I- I was hired here,”

Maybe luck is on his side. Storage Rick continues.

“This place i-is the Morty Daycare. It's where Ricks drop off M-Morty's that are too much to handle, or- or if their level doesn't a-appease their Rick.” 

Tiny Rick watches as the odd Rick points over his shoulder with a pen decorated with Morty-looking accessories.

“They're in the back. You c’mere to drop a Morty off, or-”

“What?! No, no fucking way. Levels? Too much? I- I get Ricks can have more than one Morty, but what the hell is up w-with all this bullshit? Y-you saying they just… Dump Mortys here and take off?”

“That’s right, pal. Some don't even bother c-coming back, n’ I get stuck with the little shits.”

Tiny Rick narrows his eyes, gripping the counter with his tiny fingers angrily. How could Ricks be so careless about their Mortys? This was fucking unbelievable. Ricks needed Mortys, no matter how much any Rick denied it, it was the truth. He didn't even want to admit that shit to himself, but this was ridiculous. The thought of leaving any Morty to rot in some bullshit place was making his stomach sick with guilt, something that hardly ever happened. Fuck, he didn't give a shit if Jerrys rotted. But Morty was … Different.

He bunches up his fingers and gives a small smack to the counter. Shit, he forgot about the Rick-sheep following him. He stood way too fucking long just standing there feeling shit. In a small amount of panic, he glances back up at the Rick staring at him oddly.

“H-hey, could I… Hide out in here awhile? Y-y’ know, till they get off my back?”

Tiny Rick nods his head in the direction of the Ricks behind him, any Rick behind him. It didn't matter, he needed to hide from all of them, and his place seemed like… A last resort, at best. He looks back up at him, mustering up his best childish-pleading face. The guy probably sees this look on Mortys a shit tone, maybe its effectiveness is fucked over because of that.

“Doesn't bother m-me. C’mere, smalls.”

“Its Tiny Rick, dawg. C-call me TR if, if it's easier.”

Tiny Rick beams, hoisting himself up onto the counter and swinging his legs over it. He seems to be too keen to get down though, since he jumps at the same time the Storage Rick decides to help out. And fuck, he lands on the bigger Rick’s lap.

Shit, this was illegal Rick behaviour last time he checked. He scrambles on his lap, shoving at the other Rick’s chest accusingly and grunting. His face flushes over, because this body was way too prone to any sort of touch in this manner. Fuck, fuck! Tiny Rick has a little freak out and falls off his lap, stumbling to his feet and putting his hands up defensively.

“Sh-shit! Back off, c-creep!”

Of course, it was the only way he knew how to defend himself like this. Point and accuse, even though he knew it was a mere accident. He wanted to make sure this Rick didn't get the wrong idea.

“H-hey, calm down. It was an accident, right?”

Tiny Rick huffs angrily into the air, his beat red face almost steaming from the embarrassment and the mix up. He thinks he probably looks ridiculous, like a startled puffed up cat.

“Y-yeah, but I'm- I’m just saying,”

Storage Rick only laughs. It's a weird, croaky sound. Tiny Rick figures he probably doesn't laugh often. He stands up and walks over, stuffing his lanky hand into the blue puff of hair on TR’s head. He gives it a ruffle.

“Yeah yeah, kid. Don't get all- all worried over nothing.”

Tiny Rick can't help the pout on his face. He's sure he looks like a Morty, and the thought immediately makes his face screw up. He couldn't count the times where he'd look at Morty pouting and feel either smug, or irritated. He smacks the hand from his hair, and folds his arms over his chest, shoulders slacking a bit.

“Whatever.”

Storage Rick smiles and stuffs his hands into his messy pockets, biting down on the toothpick in his mouth.

“You hungry? M-maybe I can explain some of the shit y-you've missed out on while snacking on some grub, huh?”

Tiny Rick loses the childish expression, raising half his brow in consideration. He drops his arms to his side cooly.

“Y-yeah, sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha! Holy shit! Didn't expect anyone to read this at all but fuck, some of you bookmarked and left kudos so, here's chapter two you cool cats. Thanks dawgs.


	3. Citadel... Great.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Rick learns about the new Morty craze, and wishes he was home with his Morty even more.

Tiny Rick didn't think there'd be more to the simple, crappy looking building. But shit, was he wrong. The dump wasn't too big, but it was bigger than he had thought the inside would be. Trailing behind Storage Rick, TR shoves his hands into his pants pockets, hunching his shoulders forward in a typical teenager pose as he follows him down odd passageways and strange looking rooms. He pauses at a glass door, peeking his head from behind the wall. Tiny Rick glances over at the bigger Rick still walking off, waiting for him to turn right to what he guessed was the kitchen… Or, wherever he kept the food.

He presses his hands to the glass, before opening the door and stepping inside the area. At first glance, he noticed he wasn't inside anymore, but rather outside. There was a built up, grey looking fence that surrounded the place- or was it a cage- Jesus Christ. To think Mortys were kept here, left here to perish, oh fuck. There was that sick feeling again. Or maybe he was just hungry. Tiny Rick closes the door, earning several head turns in his direction. All the eyes on him sent a rush of adrenaline through his newly baked body. Fuck yeah, attention. That's exactly what he wanted. He puffs his chest out, placing hands on his hips and looking over the Mortys.

“H-hey, dorks. I'm stayin’ awhile. I'm Tiny Rick!”

It was silent for a bit, expected, Tiny Rick thought- they were Mortys after all. Socially awkward, anxiety ridden Mortys. They all looked different, not like any other Mortys he had seen before, a good range you'd see in some sort of comic book or game for collector’s items. It gave him an odd feeling, his Morty was so plain, so … No. Not boring. Perhaps that's what made his Morty special to him. He licks his teeth, frowning at the lack of response.

Some of the Mortys gathered the uncomfortable silence terrible, and muster up the courage to give a little wave or mutter a pitiful ‘hi’ or whatever, Tiny Rick didn't pay much attention to them, since instead his eyes were set on the rogue looking shits in the corner with some sort of makeshift cigarette in both their mouths. He knew he shouldn't run his mouth too much around punks that looked like that, but fuck, they were Mortys. What's the worst they could do?

Tiny Rick strolls over confidently, leaning against the built up fencing. He stuffs hands in his pockets once more, grinning at them. They reminded him of the bunch of idiots he'd spend his high school days with.

“Hey, wh-what's up, losers?”

Deciding to test boundaries, Tiny Rick smirks and shrugs his shoulders forward, glancing between the two seated in the corner chewing on … Whatever was in their mouths.

“Buzz off.”

Tiny Rick raises his brow, these Mortys were… Something, alright. One was pretty tough looking, thick, built up. He wore some sort of stupid torn up leather jacket, piercings scattered all over him, green hair up in a Mohawk. The other was more slick looking, a greaser, one you'd see in one of those old musical films. His hair was pretty smooth looking, a simple curl bouncing from his forehead. He too, wore a leather jacket- neater, he noted. Said some shitty thing on the back, not notable. Who cares. They both looked like fucking outcasts, strays from the rest of the group. Maybe that's why Tiny Rick was drawn to them, they definitely weren't pussies.

“Wh-why should I, punk? Y-you gotta get to know all this,”

Tiny Rick gestures to himself, a cocky smile tugging at his lips. The punk looking one peers up to him, sizing him up with his eyes. The Mortys look at each other with a look that … Shouldn't be on a Mortys face.

Ever.

They both stand up. And fuck, they're taller than him by quite a bit. He backs up, raising his hands defensively and letting out a chuckle. His back hits the fencing, and he can't help the feeling of unmistakable dread creeping up his throat. He felt hot, anxious, intimidated. Something a Rick shouldn't be in front of two measly Mortys.

“G-get to know all this, huh?”

The greaser murmurs, biting the … Oh, toothpick in his mouth in two, making way for a devilish grin to spread across his cheeks. Tiny Rick looks at him, his big eyes bulging. These two weren't serious, were they? Knuckles crack to the left of him, and it wasn't until his eyes spy the punk’s cupped fists that he knew they were. Fuck, he was screwed. This body wasn't built for fighting, shit, just the essentials.

“F-fine with us.” 

The punk Morty raises his fist, then rears it back. Greaser Morty reaches forward and balls a fist in Tiny Rick’s short-sleeved shirt peeking out from his lab coat, giving him a rough shake before slamming him back into the fencing.

Greaser reaches into his lab coat and snatches the portal gun, looking it over while Tiny Rick struggles and grunts. The Morty meets eyes with TR, spying the smaller Rick’s glance down at the portal gun every second or two between glaring.

The Morty grins, throwing the portal gun onto the ground and stepping on it harshly. He slams his boot into the gun, where the material gives in and breaks down beneath it, expelling a shrieking sound of the fluids inside the beaker leaking out onto the metal.

“No!” Tiny Rick yells, reaching out for the now broken portal gun, his ticket home shattered. He bares his teeth at the Mortys, glowering at them. The punk starts to bring his fist down, aiming right for TR’s cheek. Tiny Rick shuts his eyes and grits his teeth. He yells out a protest.

“F-fuck, wait!”

“Wh-what the hell is going on here? Y-you rogue little… Shits, what have I told you a-about fighting? Jesus Christ.”

And suddenly, he's dropped to his ass. Tiny Rick looks up to see Storage Rick hoisting the two rogue Mortys up by their jackets. They give a wriggle, snarl, then start to curse and yell shit at him.

“S-stupid Rick! Put, put us down!”

“God damn- motherfucker! Th-think y-y-you're better than us?!”

Storage Rick sighs, shaking his head with a frown. He tosses the two behind him, casting them a vicious, dominant glare. The two Mortys grumble, collect themselves up and go to complain- Tiny Rick assumed- in a different corner.

He then turns to TR, giving him an odd look. He puts his hands on his hips, staring Tiny Rick down. Tiny Rick grins nervously, shrugging his shoulders.

“H-hey, they were weird lookin’..”

“Y-you were supposed to be following my ass. Christ, you can't j-just go running off like that, genius.”

“I'm not a f-fucking kid!” Tiny Rick narrows his eyes, standing to his feet and brushing himself off. Well, technically he was, but whatever. Storage Rick stares for a bit, before rolling his eyes and grabbing his arm, tugging him along and out of the Morty enclosure.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever y-you say, kid.”

Tiny Rick bunches his fists, stumbling after the creepy looking Rick back into the main compartment of the structure, where he had initially fallen into at their first meeting. Storage Rick kicks him a stool, which TR silently appreciates and sits his ass on it, kicking his legs up onto the counter. The bigger Rick sits down on his own chair, then tosses Tiny a Rick a sandwich.

“Here.”

“Th-thanks.” TR snatches it out of the air, then bites into it. It probably shouldn't taste this good, but these newly crafted tastebuds were overly sensitive, just like every other part of him, and this sandwich tasted like the best thing he'd had in years. He hums softly, taking another bite, before noticing the other’s eyes on him. Feeling awkward, Tiny Rick swallows and leans back against the wall, clearing his throat.

“Sooo… A-about this place? What in the hell made it c-completely revolve around Mortys?”

A quick throwback to the last time he had ‘visited’, that salesman Rick had tried to sell him Morty related products and merchandise, but shit, why had it gotten this bad since then? There had to be a reason, fuck, this sandwich was fucking good. Tiny Rick stuffs it into his mouth, waiting for an answer.

The Rick leans back, casting his ray of vision towards the ceiling.

“Uhh, s-something about Mortys losing too many Ricks to count, Ricks losing their Mortys, Ricks dying, Mortys found stranded,”

Tiny Rick frowns into his sandwich. Stranded, he thought, recalling the two Mortys who seemed only aggressive towards Ricks. Poor saps.

“A-all that sort of shit. Just, just too many Mortys. So, th-the council funded-“

“Yeah r-right, you mean stole,”

“Probably. S-stole money to help, or… Something. If- if what you call helping is running around a-and claiming Mortys as your own n’ making ‘em fight for schmeckles or some other dumb currency Ricks obsess over, then y-you got it.”

Tiny Rick’s attention snaps up from his sandwich, that sounded fucking ridiculous. Forcing Mortys to fight each other was stupid. Unless you had rough Mortys like the rogue dipshits in the enclosure, there was no way in hell Mortys would even fucking think to fight each other. They were too… Well, they were Mortys.

“Th- that's stupid,” TR concludes, wiping his small hands on his pants to discard of any more mess. He folds his arms over his chest, licking his lips and dipping his head to the side, earning a satisfying crack. He grunts.

“Anything else?”

“Nah, that's all I needed to know.” He pauses, then speaks up again.

“W-wait, d’you know why those Rick-pigs are after my ass?”

Storage Rick peers up at the ceiling again in thought. He shakes his head, looking back over to Tiny Rick.

“Can't s-say I can tell y’ anything, kid. They haven't told me shit a-about why they’re tryin’ to reel you in.”

Tiny Rick narrows his eyes, muttering a curse. He stretches his arms above his head, then pats his lab coat pocket, expecting the reassuring bulge of the portal gun. His face falls to a frown once again. Right, yeah. The little fuckers destroyed it. How the hell was he going to get home? Wait. Every Rick has a portal gun, right? Tiny Rick wearily casts his gaze over to the other Rick, focusing on his blue ‘lab coat’.

He notices that the other’s attention had averted to a book on his desk. TR gets up and walks over, burying his tiny hand into the bigger Rick’s jacket, aimlessly feeling around for a portal gun, before his wrist is snatched up in a big hand.

“Hey. What gives, kid?”

Tiny Rick parts his lips to talk, but what the fuck was his excuse? Stealing a portal gun? Can I borrow this? No, he couldn't really say anything, and by the looks of it- this motherfucker didn't even have one.

“I- I should be asking you ‘what gives’! Y-you don't have a portal gun?”

“Nah, d- d'you think if I had one I'd be here watching over a bunch of snot-nosed Mortys all day? Jesus, a-and you called me the creep. You're the one f-feeling me up, smalls.”

Tiny Rick freezes, feeling a shameful blush creep up the back of his neck. He was right, fuck, this was embarrassing. He tries to pry his hand from the other’s grip on his wrist, but he couldn't. He glances up at him, red faced and nervous.

“Y-you're right,” TR dips his head. “S-sorry, dawg.”

Being treated like a kid came with the package, he guessed. And it was hard not to feel like one when your artificial heart was crafted ideally to be just like one. Just like last time, old Rick was pushed to the back of his mind, some renewed aspects of himself from his teenage years shining through. Tiny Rick looks up, giving his wrist another wiggle, a silent ask to be let go, but Storage Rick wasn't having it.

“You're j-just like a Morty, m-maybe if no one comes to get you, you’ll be stuck here too.”

Tiny Rick glances up at him, gaping. Fuck, fuck no, he didn't need to hear that. Morty and Summer were waiting for him, he was sure of it. He just… Needed a portal gun. Fuck, he should've just portled out of this shithole the second he got his hands on the gun! Damn his stupid curiosity impulses.

“Uh, w-what? No,”

Storage Rick cocks his head to the side, his toothpick swapping sides. He bites on it.

“You c-could stay here with me, if- if you want. If they've forgotten about you.”

And suddenly he's getting pulled closer. No, they haven't forgotten. Shit, this contact was stupid! He didn't need to be pitied, fuck no, Ricks didn't need to be pitied. Especially physically. He didn't fucking need this. He shoves at the older Rick, smacking hands into him stubbornly, frowning red-faced and embarrassed.

“Ju- just shut up!”

Storage Rick smiles, lifting the smaller Rick up onto his knee. He wraps arms around him, in an attempt to comfort and support him in a way only another Rick could.

What a stupid fucking Rick, Tiny Rick thinks, squirming a bit before blinking his wetting eyes. He settles down, curses this body for being so prone to emotion, and he shuts his eyelids together. He wasn't scared, just worried and confused. The council would be on his ass for making a break for it, and he couldn't ditch his family again to hide. He couldn't ditch Morty, he wasn't like the Ricks who left their Mortys in this dump to rot.

“Fuck, fuck you.”

“Heh, are y-you sure you're not the perverted creep?”

Tiny Rick punches his ribs, then drops off his lap in a huffy, annoyed state. He couldn't believe he let this idiot hold him like some sort of… Sort of temperamental child. Like, sure, he was acting like one- but this treatment was starting to piss him off.

Ricks didn't need pity. Tiny Rick storms off to the corner of the room, then kicks the wall. He pouts, looking over his shoulder. 

“I- I’m only staying over night, dawg. Then I gotta go, keep, keep moving. So they don't s-snatch me up. Got it?”

Storage Rick raises his brow, rubbing his ribs through his shirt.

“Suit y-yourself.”

Tiny Rick sat down against the wall with his arms folded, peering over to the tiny piece of daylight peeking in through the gap between the counter and roof of the establishment. He dips his head forwards, shuts his eyes, and tries to get some sleep. He tips over onto his side, his little body tucked neatly against the wall as he slept, small chest rising up and down.

Storage Rick peers over with lazy eyes, shrugging off his blue lab coat and walking over towards the sleeping tiny Rick on the floor. He sets the article of clothing over the smaller body, chewing on his toothpick in thought. Storage Rick picks TR up, narrows his eyes, then walks over towards his desk. He tucks him neatly into a spare box underneath his desk, making sure no one could see him if those council Ricks were to show up and question him.

He then sits back in his chair, flips open his book, and continues from where he left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo I decided to upload chapter three today, too, cuz fuck it. I wrote it. Might as well. I know how shitty is it to wait! So, Have at it, dawgs!


	4. Citadel... Feelings?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Rick finds out what the Council pigs want with him, and formulates a plan after brief emotional haywire.

Tiny Rick wakes up, his limbs a little cramped and stiff from the odd position he was bent in. Upon blinking his tired eyes and looking around the closed off space, he discovers that he's beneath some sort of desk instead of leaning up against the wall. He inhales, catching a light scent of… Whatever that was, how the fuck could you describe something that musky? With a light grunt, Tiny Rick glances down to the blue lab coat covering his small body. He immediately tosses it over his shoulder and throws his legs over the side of the box, ready to get out.

As soon as he shifts his body, a massive shoe is placed on his belly, forcing him subtly back down into The box.

“Hey! What g-“

Tiny Rick’s breath is cut short once the foot presses down some more, effectively winding him to the point of lacking his speech. With a growl, the smaller Rick grips at the offending shoe and wheezes softly. It's then he hears voices above, and fuck. Maybe he should've assessed the situation first. He shuts his mouth, then listens to the commotion.

“No, h-haven't seen a little Rick anywhere around here.”

“Shit. Alright, well if you see one running around, l-let us know.” 

One of the Council Ricks outside give a nod, the other adjusting his uniform impatiently. There's a short silence, and Storage Rick bites the toothpick in thought.

“W-what're you gonna do with him? Y-you know, once you catch the little bastard.”

Tiny Rick flicks at the shoe, rolling his eyes.

“Ohhh y-you know, interrogate the little shit and find how he got his grubby little hands on a formula. He’s a, he's a clone. The little fucker’s put himself in that body, and obviously s-some of us want a bit longer to run around fuck shit up.”

The other Council Rick clicks his tongue.

“Cloning is experimental a-and strictly kept to animals. Fuck, Ricks have tried before, but… C-137 did it. Twice. W-we want in, some of us want to relive our golden days, son.”

Tiny Rick narrows his eyes. These stingy, selfish pieces of shit. Llike he'd ever tell the Council how to formulate clones properly without fail, these idiotic sheep would live forever. And fuck, every Rick who wanted to see the Citadel crumble like the stupid government it was wouldn't be able to if they got their hands on a cloning formula. Fucking shit, he wouldn't tell them. For the better of Rick-kind. It wasn't good for a Rick to regenerate his body over and over, let alone the Council of Ricks abusing the knowledge, who knows what they'd do?

He wriggles, annoyed, and the shoe gives Tiny Rick a little nudge.

“Alright, w-well I'll let you know if I see him.”

“Good.”

When Tiny Rick hears the two Ricks storm off in a hurry, probably back to the council he figures, the foot moves from his small middle. He breathes in, too dramatically, and stumbles out of the box onto the floor. He rubs his clothed belly, flicking his head up to glare at Storage Rick.

“God, w-what the hell, man?”

“You were gonna give y-yourself away, dipshit.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

There's another brief, awkward silence. Tiny Rick moves up off his hands and knees onto his feet, brushing himself off. He grabs the blue lab coat and tosses it onto Storage Rick’s face. He almost says thank you, but a stubborn part of his tiny brains denies the words to leave his mouth. Tiny Rick didn’t think the scruffy Rick would care that much, he was a Rick, not a pussy.

Tiny Rick stretches his cramped limbs, leaning against the wall and groaning softly as they all pop satisfyingly. He shuts his eyes a second, tipping his head to the left and earning another feel-good crack.

“Mm.. shit.”

He opens his eyes, to meet Storage Rick’s from across the room. Tiny Rick squints, cocking his head to the right and gaining another crack.

“What're you looking at?”

“Y-you.”

“The hell do y-“

“Not bad f-for a clone. So you really aren't a kid, huh? Jesus.”

“What the hell are you getting at, punk? Y-you got a sick thing for me?”

Storage Rick grins, shaking his head. He stands up and walks over, looming over the smaller Rick and looking him up at down. He kneels down to eye level, lifting his big hands hesitantly. He locks eyes with Tiny Rick.

“C-can I look at the body-work? You made it yourself, right?”

Tiny Rick slams his back against the wall in surprise, shoving the taller Rick’s shoulders and raising his own to his neck in defence. Storage Rick falls onto his ass, staring at him with a raised brow.

“F-fuck! What the hell do y-you- do you think you're doing, creep?! You're just like those fuckers who want me for themselves! Y-you gonna interrogate me too?! Jesus! I should've known, all Ricks are, are curious pieces of shit who can't help themselves!”

“No, wait a minute, ugh.”

“I-I fucking trusted you!”

Tiny Rick balls his fists, mouth turning to a thin line that pans downwards into a deceived pout. God, emotions were stronger in this body. Everything was stronger, it was easier to feel, he wasn't numb anymore and he felt a tight feeling in his throat seizing his airways. He hiccups, eyes wetting pathetically. He doesn't want to fucking cry, but he can't help it. He's not in control anymore, and he defends himself the only way he knows how. Building up a barrier around himself and cussing the offender out.

“Y-you son of a bitch! Fuck, fuck you!”

He throws his hands up, tugging at his own hair and blinking angrily, small drops wetting his cheeks. Tiny Rick rubs his cheeks and eyes, shaking his head.

“I thought you could help me, fuck,”

Storage Rick stares at him for a second. It was hard to watch another Rick break down in front of him, especially one that wasn't in control of his feelings. It reminded him of himself, of every other Rick that wished to cry about the smallest things. They couldn't, though, they were Ricks, and crying was a sign of weakness. It's why they all drank, to drown their sorrows and regrets in a vile ocean of alcohol. Fuck, Tiny Rick babbling on like an idiot crying reminded him of his Morty. His poor, fucking dead Morty. Despite how many Mortys he'd had to take care of in this dump, none could replace his little deceased buddy. It was his fault.

Storage Rick looks down at his hands, illusional blood covering them. He looks lost for a moment, guilty, before he looks back up to Tiny Rick spouting incoherent nonsense and sobbing out swears. He reaches forward, wrapping his long lanky arms around Tiny Rick and bringing him close to his chest. Tiny Rick struggles angrily, beating his small fists on the Rick’s chest, before he hears the taller Rick mutter something into his ear.

“S-sorry, Mor-”

Everything seems to freeze in place. Tiny Rick swallows uncomfortably, and he figures something terrible must've happened to this guy’s Morty. It made sense, being around all these Mortys trying to fill the irreplaceable gap in his heart. He wraps awkward tiny arms around the other Rick’s middle, patting his back softly. He never was good at this. Fuck, maybe this guy was sincere. Maybe he wasn't just another Council Rick, shit, maybe he really was just curious about the work instead of the process. Tiny Rick blinks his eyes dry from any tears, and retracts his arms back to give him a gentle shove to his chest.

“H-hey, I'm uh,”

“It's fine. It happens to m-most Ricks.”

Shit. Was that an actual statistic? Or was he just trying to make himself feel better? Tiny Rick bites his lip, glancing to the floor. Either way, it made him feel anxious. Fuck, he needed to get back to his own Morty, let the little shit know how much he appreciated him.

… Maybe not. He didn't need a cocky Morty. Tiny Rick purses his lips, shrugging himself out of the other’s hold. He scratches the back of his head awkwardly, glancing off to the side. Was he considering this guy’s offer? No, no way in hell was he letting anyone see him without clothes on, for observation or not. It was just too… Embarrassing. He hated to admit it, but this teenage mind was making him feel nervous about the whole thing. Fuck. Maybe he was the pussy.

Storage Rick stands up, then turns around and cranes his neck to the side, scratching at it.

“Uh, I should- I should go.”

Tiny Rick announces hesitantly, feeling a bit weird leaving this Rick feeling terrible. But what the hell was he supposed to do about it? A lost Morty was a lost case. You couldn't just… Bring one back. The Rick should just get a new one and get over it. That's what most Ricks did, anyway.

“Alright. S-see you later.”

Tiny Rick bites his tongue, half convinced to tell him he wouldn't be coming back. He hated it here, he still did, the Council was a pile of shit. He inhales, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah.”

He wanted to give Storage Rick some sort of thanks, anything, but he doubts he could muster up anything that'd be remotely remembering of him. Tiny Rick walks over to the counter, looking outside before placing both his small hands up on it and jumping it. He looks over his shoulder at the saddened Rick, reaching inside his small lab coat and fishing around.

Tiny Rick slides the Morty coupon across the desk, before turning on his heel, shoving hands into his pockets and walking off into the Citadel grounds. He knew exactly what he needed to do. Infiltrate the Council of Ricks, find the recruiting area, and steal some of the supplies to make a smooth escape home.

He dashes off into an alleyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. Okay so it's been a few days since I updated this bitch. Also, shit! Thanks for all the attention this has been getting! You're great!
> 
> ...this is sorta short. Consider it a build up for the next chapter dawgs!


	5. Citadel... Infiltrate!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Rick trespasses the Council of Ricks in an attempt to steal his ticket home, or, he tries at least.

It was dark and eerily strange inside the alleyway, but nothing too out of the ordinary for a place untouched by Rick-kind. Fuck, even the places that light graced on this cancerous turf had a grossly sheepish vibe. Tiny Rick grimaces as his hand touches some weird substance on the side of a dumpster, and he doesn't even want to look at it in fear of identifying some sort of alien disease. Then again, suffering and dying clueless didn't sound too appealing either, so he gives a quick glance down to his hand and huffs a relieved sigh at the green goo oozing from the dumpster.

Tiny Rick wipes it on the end of his lab coat and disregards it, he couldn't be fussing over lame things like dumpster discharge. He had a plan to follow through with and it was going to be difficult. Not only is sneaking into the Council without being escorted there a felony- not like he cared- but it had dire punishments. They wouldn't kill him, though, they wanted his cloning technique. He wets his lip, crouching behind the dumpster in thought. It smells awful, and it clouds his thoughts with disgust- well, if it was possible to get even more disgusted after thinking about the Council’s torture methods. He shakes his head, setting his chin on his bunched up knees. How could he infiltrate the Council without looking suspicious and risk getting caught?

He needed a disguise. Just a temporary one, until he got inside. Tiny Rick stands up, then opens the dumpster. Nothing too relevant to his plan, aside from a stray wooly hat and a crunched up bag. He narrows his eyes, reaching inside the dumpster and pulling out the bag and hat. They smell like utter shit, but maybe it was something he could fix. He zips open the bag, grabbing a can of deodorant. It looked like an old bag from the Council that had been discarded, probably because of some form of mutiny or some other ridiculous Rick-law that had been broken. It had a few items of use, and judging by the stupidly teenage oriented contents, it looked like it had belonged to a Morty. Poor sap, Tiny Rick thinks, spraying the area with the deodorant. It helps a bit, not too much, but who gave a shit.

Tiny Rick reaches inside and hauls out a near-perfect full body uniform, suited for a Morty. Silently pleased he was right, Rick sizes himself up and strips from his lab coat and pants. He chucks them into the bag, and replaces them with the altered Council lab coat and white pants. There's no mirror to check himself in, but he bets he looks fucking stupid. Or too good. There was no way he was admitting this piece of shit fashion statement was anywhere near impressive, even on himself. The uniform, despite the lingering scent of trash, smelled like a Morty. They all smelled the same, cheap cologne, newly washed clothes, oddly like coconut, fuck knows where that came from or why he even bothered to notice. Was that creepy? Probably.

Well, he smelled bad, but convincing. He throws the hat over his head, pulling it down over his ears and hiding his fluffy head of blue hair. He pats the uniform in hope of a portal gun, hell, he even searches the bag, but to no avail. Just his luck, but it made sense. It was unlike a Rick, any Rick, to trust a Morty with a portal gun. Blue tufts of hair stick out from underneath the brown mess of a hat, but that was to be expected, he had too much hair. Tiny Rick zips up his bag and tosses the strap over his shoulder, standing up and walking out into the open confidently. He couldn't look suspicious in the slightest, and most Ricks could understand another Rick’s nervous vibe, so he had to be careful; but not too confident. He was supposed to be a Morty.  
Fuck. How the hell do you play the role of a Morty? Tiny Rick lessens his walking pace and hunches his shoulders a bit, chewing on his lower lip. Maybe that was a bit better. He awkwardly walks to the entrance of the council, catching up to a Rick with a Morty who were also entering. It wasn't weird to see a Rick with two Mortys, especially since this new craze. Shit, maybe this whole catching Morty-obsession would benefit his escape, since most Mortys looked different.

The Morty turns to face Tiny Rick, while the Council Guard and the Morty’s Rick chat about entry and the reason they're here.

“O-oh, hey… I- I didn't see you join our team.”

“Sh-shut up, M-“ Shit, no. He had to be a Morty. Even if some of the little shits were harsh, a Rick’s attitude was something entirely different.

“I uh, I- I mean… Y-you scared me, d-dawg, I – um…”

The Morty smiles, swinging his arms like a child.

“Oh! It's okay, man,” 

He gives a small friendly punch to Tiny Rick’s shoulder, and it takes all of him not to grab the little shit by the collar and shake him senseless. TR grunts, narrowing his eyes and forcing a high pitched chuckle. The Morty chuckles back, and reaches out to hold his hand. 

What the fuck. Tiny Rick pulls his hand away, shoving both of his hands into his new white pants. He didn't know what kind of bond Mortys had with each other, but he wasn't having any part of it. He wasn't a Morty. He adjusts the bag strap on his shoulder uncomfortably.

“Morty.”

A voice says from above, presumably his Rick’s. The door to the Council opens, and so do his chances. They walk inside slowly, calmly, then stop and look around the big welcoming place that was tinted gold. The Morty turns to where Tiny Rick was moments ago.

“W-wow! Isn't this place really-“

The Morty looks around questioningly, then catches a glance from his Rick who was eyeing him, confused. Tiny Rick had already made a run for it, down one of a halls, unseen. Fuck, good. He made it inside, now all he had to do was find the recruiting area and steal his ticket home.

Tiny Rick reaches up and yanks the hat from his head, tossing it onto the floor and kicking it out of his pathway, bringing two tiny hands up to his hair to mess it up and make it fluffy again. Maybe there was a map somewhere he could use to guide his way through the massive structure. He hadn't paid attention last time he was here, and frankly, who could keep up anyway? This place was fucking huge!  
After brief consideration, he decides to just aimlessly walk and see what he finds. Tiny Rick dashes in the halls, keeping an eye out for any shadows or incoming Ricks and Mortys. He passes a few rooms, which he glances at in curiosity. All rooms had labels beside the entry, forensic lab, meeting room, all the typical Rick shit. He turns a sharp corner, and bumps straight into a Rick. Tiny Rick withholds an accusing yell, his mouth dropping to a shocked gape.

The Council Rick grunts, his brow furrowing, and Tiny Rick can assess the look of recognition on his face. He turns, and starts running down the hall in a panic.

“W-wait a fucking second, you! Shit,”

The Rick looks over his shoulder, yelling a string of commands down at younger ranking Ricks. Tiny Rick gulps down his shock, turning corners and picking up his pace once he hears yelling down the halls behind him and an array of stomping. Fuck, fuck! He turns the next corner and ducks into the next room he finds.

Holy shit! Just his luck, and it's the fucking recruiting area. Tiny Rick swallows and rushes over to a box across the room, throwing open a box’s lid and frantically searching for a portal gun with charge. He snatches one up, and shoots a portal into the wall. TR makes a jump, but he's stopped airborne by a large hand gripping his uniform collar. 

Tiny Rick looks over his shoulder shamefully, frowning nervously, the illuminating glow from the portal gun in front of him teasing him despicably. He wriggles, portal gun still in hand.

“Lemme go, assholes!”

“Nice try, C-137. Tiny R-Rick. Whatever, w-what matters is that you're not going anywhere, pal.”

The Rick snatches the portal gun from his hand and shoves it into his belt messily, the greenish glow in from of him slipping away with a pop. He winces, throwing his arms out towards where the glow was prior.

“No!”

Another Council Rick grabs his small arms and winds them onto his back, cuffing him up. The hands feel familiar, and Tiny Rick turns and bares his teeth at the Rick patting his newly cuffed wrists. A Rick grabs his bag.

“Won't be slipping away from me this time, y-you little punk.”

The Council Rick buries a fist in Tiny Rick’s hair, then gives a sharp yank, emitting a low growl of pain from TR. The Rick pulls him by the hair out of the room, dragging him on his ass down the halls with the other Ricks trailing behind him, stern and serious expressions on their faces instead of the expected smug, proud ones. Shit, this must be important for them.

The Rick approaches a room and dials some buttons into the pad, the thick metal door opening with a puff of steam slipping out from the sides. He tosses Tiny Rick into the room, and he lands on his back, cuffs grinding into his wrists uncomfortably beneath his own weight.

“Ugh!” He grunts, wriggling around, trying to flip himself into a less vulnerable position.

“S-strip him from those clothes, he doesn't deserve to w-wear them.”

“Like I wanted to wear this piece of shit anyway, dipass!” 

Tiny Rick spits up at the Ricks approaching him, one of them wiping the saliva from his cheek irritably. He squints down at the little Rick, raising his upper lip in disgust. TR hears the door shut, and he turns his head from the hands ripping him free of the council uniform to the window.

It was a big window, taking up half the opposing wall. He figures it's to watch the interrogation, and a shudder runs down his spine. Fuck. This was going to be utter shit. Once the Ricks had tore the clothes they owned off of him, they stood back to observe what Tiny Rick was left in. It'd do for torture, a short sleeved blue shirt and his boxers, they look at each other with unchanged expressions, before approaching the door and leaving. The door slams shut as soon as they leave, leaving the small Rick to himself to wriggle around pathetically and only wonder what they have in store for him.

Tiny Rick’s heart pounds, bulging eyes looking around the clean room. There's nothing in it besides a chair in the middle of the room bolted to the floor, a desk in the very corner, and a microphone on top of the ceiling. He turns his head and wets his dry lip nervously, peering over to the big window with a few Ricks watching with pens ready. One of the Ricks tap the transmitter microphone, and the receiving mic buzzes and rings in Tiny Rick’s sensitive ears. He grunts, gritting his teeth together and writhing around on the floor angrily. Clearly, he’s had enough already.

Soon, the door opens again, and one Rick walks in with a trolley that's covered in white drapes. He's wearing a different sort of Council uniform, with circles on his shoulder pads instead of the Citadel symbol. His hair is slicked back, but still spiked like any other Rick’s. He's wearing gloves and black boots, and his uniform is tinged with a soft red around the edges. After setting the contents of the trolley down on the desk in the corner of the room, he looks over his shoulder.

He approaches Tiny Rick and circles him like a predatory cat, before snatching up his cuffs and lifting him up by them. He positions TR on the chair, his cuffed wrists around the back of the chair, keeping his back placed firmly against the metal. He tries to tug himself free, or lift his arms over the chair’s back, but there seems to be some sort of lock that attaches to the cuffs on the back of the chair. Chewing his lip nervously, he looks back up at the strange looking Rick who was now in front of him and shrugs his shoulders to his neck.

“W-what's the likeliness of the Council dropping this?”  
A hand smacks into Tiny Rick’s cheek, effectively turning his head in the following direction. He hisses in pain as the sting corrupts his pale cheek, a hand mark forming on the side of his face. It's tomato red, and it fucking hurts. Tiny Rick licks his lips, grinning up at the torture-Rick with every last bit of smugness he had left in him. He cocks his head to the side, chuckling slowly.

“That a-all you got?”

Tiny Rick bends his knees to his chest, then delivers a tough kick with both legs directly into the torture-Rick’s chest. It makes him stumble back, then pause and give a throaty growl. Clearly, he wasn't pleased with TR’s defiance, and fuck, it only made him want to fight it more. The torture-Rick turns from Tiny Rick and walks over slowly to the array of objects displayed on the desk. Tiny Rick couldn't turn his head enough to see what he was doing or what he was picking up, but he was assuming he was getting ‘what he has’.

Although, the expressions on the three Rick's watching in the window make Tiny Rick’s stomach churn nauseatingly. Whatever he was preparing, it wouldn't be good.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha holy shit. Wonder what kind of sick toture Rick-pigs will do next chapter. Thanks for reading still, dawgs! Comment sometime.

**Author's Note:**

> HOLY SHIT i wrote this on an iPad so excuse any stupid ass mistakes, dawgs.


End file.
